Call To Arms
by JabberjayHeart
Summary: The streets were painted red in the blood of the tiny soldiers. The children of the future. . .now a part of history. Welcome to the 1st Hunger Games!
1. Desire

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

 _ **Call To Arms.**_

 _ **Chapter One: Desire.**_

* * *

 _ **Prologue, Part One.**_

* * *

President Belsarion was intimidating, to say the least.

The confined spaces and cramped bodies did nothing to make his skeletal appearance seem more. . .human. His sunken cheeks and stressed-out eyes raked over as many people as he could muster, before he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

Around him was his small council: Vice President Valor, Commander Ares, and Counsellors Fennix and Lisanna.

"You all know why you have all been summoned," Valor spoke up on his behalf. "It's time to find a solution that will sate the citizens."

The war had ended a month ago. Two long, desperate, pain-filled years that hung over everyone like a blanket. Days and weeks and months that were spent spilling blood, counting casualties. It was finally over. . .but they had another crisis on their hands. A small number of said casualties had been Capitolites. Two bombs - one that struck a hospital, the other a school.

Before the celebrations. . .Capitolites mourned their fallen. Children and the sick. How could the districts be so cruel to target innocents? It was as if nobody saw the irony - that, across Panem, the districts dug mass graves for their deceased. Too poor to have lone burials. No real place or time to mourn their beloved in their own uncertain futures.

Now. . .they wanted revenge. They thirsted for the districts' atonement, their blood.

"We have to be careful not to start another war," Fennix pointed out. "As much as the citizens want blood, if we push the districts too far, we might have to deal with the consequences. Deploying more soldiers, rationing more food. . .I doubt we could handle another dark day on our hands."

"My soldiers are ready for anything," Ares grinned.

"Have you not slaughtered enough children?"

"It's not my fault that the districts decided to send in small-fry. I simply did my duty and protected Panem. I don't think I saw _you_ out there in the dirt with my boys, Fennix. Snuggled up in your panties as _real_ men defended their homes."

Fennix snorted dismissively, looking at Valor for answers. Valor simply shook his head. "Violence is out of the question, Commander Ares. We need a solution that will last centuries."

"I agree," Lisanna spoke up. She laid out paperwork in front of her. "When we reclaimed each district, every rebel was recorded for reference. . .just in case we were to face any further issues."

"Your point?" Ares crossed his arms over his hulking chest, smiled condescendingly at her.

Lisanna ignored him. "We can use this record to our advantage."

President Belsarion - who had simply listened in on his council's bickering - looked up at Lisanna. "What are you suggesting, Counsellor?"

"To our amazement, a third of the rebels were in fact children. Some we caught red-handed. Others were passed to us in the form of deals. We have roughly a hundred children with skills and attributes of soldiers, roughened by war," Lisanna beamed proudly, sliding the notes to her superior, "I have a solution."

Lisanna continued her train of thought as Belsarion scanned the findings. True to her word, a good chunk of the names were children as young as fifteen: forced or willingly, it was hard to say. Maybe even a mixture of both. There had been rumours of children on the front line. Too outlandish to truly believe unless you witnessed it. Each district had at least ten children rebels. Some with incredible feats burned against their names.

"This kid. . .flipped a tank?"

Lisanna looked at the President. She smiled. "He did indeed. A homemade landmine. He's from District Three, after all, so it shouldn't be that much of a surprise."

"He's sixteen. . ." Belsarion almost laughed. So the rumours had been true. The districts had been beaten to the point that they called upon children to fill out their ranks.

 _How many had they killed?_ Belsarion couldn't help but wonder. When he took power, he promised himself to be a kind leader. Respectful and understanding. He had opened the borders for the districts. Increased their rations. He deployed his own personal army - aptly named Peacekeepers - in order to watch over them and help out. He wanted to strengthen Panem's links.

Where had it all gone wrong? When did it get to the point where they tore each other down?

He never wanted war - it was only when the school was bombed, and the citizens flew into rage over the poor children that he decided to act. And that one action forced them into a two-year long war where children were used as pawns, pieces on a chessboard.

"President Belsarion?"

Belsarion came around. Glanced at his people. "Apologies. I was lost in thought. . .you were saying, Counsellor?"

"Execution," Lisanna repeated herself. "We bring forth, say, a third of these rebel children. Pit them against each other in an arena. It should be enough to sate the citizens' appetite, whilst making a last stand against the districts - reminding them that we hold their fate in our hands, and we were kind enough to only punish a select few."

Fennix shot out of his seat. Fury was etched in his beady eyes. "They're children!"

"I like it!" Ares grinned.

"It's barbaric! We'd be no better than the districts who murdered our own children in that bomb attack!"

"They sent their children to war," Lisanna calmly injected. "If they were honestly worried about losing them, they shouldn't have dragged them into it. And, if you look at these reports. . .some of these children are hardly innocent. Some of them killed soldiers, Fennix."

"I vote no," Fennix said vehemently, sitting down. "I'm completely against it. . .are you even human, Lisanna? To suggest a thing? You have teenagers yourself. Would you like them to fight to the death against one another?"

Lisanna's calm exterior dropped. A moment of coldness flashed over her face. "I didn't drag my children into something so dangerous and let them play soldiers, did I? But the districts did. . .and those kids were pretty good at slaughtering our troops. I find it only fair."

President Belsarion couldn't believe the notion. He hated it. He didn't want to shed any more unnecessary blood. He sighed, pinched his nose again. Sickness made him feel delirious. As much as he hated the idea. . .the Capitol wanted something extravagant, or they'd want his head on a platter instead. By why not adults? Why did they pick on the supposed weak? Was it because. . .they were easier to control? Stripped from their comforts, they might not fight as hard. . .

"I'm in," Ares beamed, "In fact, I'm willing to send my troops to round them all up for you. Prisoners of war."

"Two to one," Lisanna smiled, "Vice President?"

For a brief moment, Valor didn't answer. But then he silently nodded.

It fell to President Belsarion. His word was final. No matter their opinions, if he said yes or no, it would happen. He rolled the idea around in his head. It was complete madness, forcing children to fight until they die. What would it achieve? It might stir another war.

Then again, with District Two back on side and District Thirteen completely obliterated. . .their forces would be significantly weaker.

 _No! Ludicrous! You're not a murderer, Belsarion. . .you're too soft._

He wanted to avoid another war. He didn't want to be the President that took his citizens to war and then orchestrated a vicious bloodbath of children after, as if making a show of power. He simply wasn't that guy.

But that guy won wars. . .was adored by crazed people. It made them feel safe, secure. He only ever wanted that.

"Sir?" Valor placed a hand on his shoulder, "Are you feeling okay? You look pale. . ."

"I'm fine," Belsarion straightened up, "I just need to process this."

"You're considering it?" Fennix sounded aghast.

"Have some respect." Valor shot him a harsh glare, a gentle reminder. "Take as long as you need, Sir. We don't have to act upon it yet. I'm sure the citizens will understand. . ."

His people. He had promised them an answer by nightfall. If he postponed it. . .

Without thinking, without allowing another thought into his already stressed-out head, Belsarion nodded, eyes shut. He heard Fennix sigh. Ares clap his hands. Valor's warm hand was still on his shoulder, a comfortable slip of humanity in what felt like utter darkness.

"Excellent," Lisanna seemed happy. "I'll make the preparations. A call to arms, so to speak."

* * *

 **Note:** Submissions are open. The form and any information can be found on my profile. Please do not hesitate to message me if you have any queries. It is open submissions - and when the deadline closes, I will draw my final decisions.

* * *

What is happening right now!?

Look, I don't even know. I'm reading a book and living my fantasies and. . .I decided to write. I won't make false promises - but I'm going back to my roots, where I actually enjoyed writing and didn't see it as a chore. I will try my utmost best to honour the unwritten contract of finishing this story. You even have permission to scream abuse at me (nicely. . .)

Go and submit! And read! And maybe review _:)_


	2. Lust

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and submitted so far! (though most of you are shady af)

* * *

 _ **Call To Arms.**_

 _ **Chapter Two: Lust.**_

* * *

 _ **Prologue, Part Two.**_

* * *

Everything was falling into place.

Counsellor Lisanna had always been known for her dirty tactics. It was no secret that she blackmailed officials in order to climb the ranks much quicker. Convenient dirt pulled up on her rivals for the role. But this. . .it was almost surreal. She hadn't even planned for it to fall into place so easily.

The dark night above provided the perfect cover for a discreet meeting of minds. Even though it ran smoothly, there was still fear that the truth would be unearthed. Lisanna had to stay vigilant and be smart. One false move would be her untimely downfall.

"I'm still in shock that Valor agreed," Commander Ares walked by her side, shoulder to shoulder. His crimson eyes twinkled devilishly in the dark. "I was expecting to, you know. . .have to fight it out like with Fennix."

"Yes, me too," Lisanna frowned. _Why had he agreed to it?_

They walked through Belsarion Manor's gardens. Rose bushes lined either side of the garden path, highlighted by the eerie glow of lanterns adorned on sticks. It was beautiful in the light, but seemed creepy at night. Lisanna should've been worried about spies - however, Belsarion had since dismissed most of his staff. The reasons were unknown, but it was pretty clear that Belsarion was coming apart at the seams.

"He's becoming paranoid, you know," Lisanna pointed out.

" _Hmm?_ Belsarion? Yeah, I'm not quite sure either. He's been acting even more weirder than normal. . .do you think he's lost the plot?"

Lisanna pondered that thought for a moment. "Surely not. He just won a war. . ."

". . .I won a war. . ."

". . .But normally, he would never agree to such an idea," Lisanna ignored Ares entirely, "I knew my idea would cause friction. I _knew_ that Fennix would shoot it down because he believes in unity and peace, not power. But then Valor agreed. . .and Belsarion conceded completely. Didn't even answer. Just a pitiful nod."

They came to the pond. A wooden bridge arched over the murky waters. The moonlight reflected on the surface, stirring the restless fish. Ares took Lisanna's hand - and she tried her best not to flinch at his callous fingers on her body - and guided her over it.

"Don't overthink it," Ares reminded her as they stopped in the middle, admiring the peaceful surroundings in privacy.

Lisanna rolled her eyes. Ares didn't see it. "I _have_ to, Ares. Don't be so naive. In order to stay one step ahead, I need to work out what the pair of them are even thinking."

She had planned for this for so long. She needed support - and Ares was just the right amount of violence and stupidity to be manipulated - but her plan could easily come undone if Belsarion or Valor had ulterior motives. She _had_ to find out what their game was. It was crucial.

"Do you still have your spies?"

Ares - who was too busy admiring Lisanna's porcelain features in the dark - stared away, "Of course."

"I need to know what Valor's motive is."

"Sorted," Ares leaned forward, "Does that earn me a kiss?"

Lisanna grimaced as she leaned in, kissing Ares softly on the cheek. He turned, brought his hands up to her face, but she backed away. "Only after I find out what I need to know, Ares. This is important. We can play kissy-kissy after."

"Yeah, yeah. I'll find out the dirt on him. And then what?"

"And then we plot. But for now. . .we watch Belsarion light the torch that will set fire to the districts."

* * *

His headache was getting increasingly worse.

The door to the home office was ajar. Noise fluttered through: sharp and piercing, like a machete to his brain. He strained his eyes as he looked up, barely aware of his own surroundings. Dim light crept through the doorway like tendrils, followed by a shadow. The figure made their way across the room, lighting candles on the wall as they went. Soon, the dark was chased away by an orange hue.

"Honey?"

He laughed, "No, that's you. . ."

Honey Belsarion stopped at her husband's desk, smiling fondly at their recurring joke. It was a warm memory. It had helped her cope throughout the war. Whenever she feared for the worse or her husband's sanity, she would only have to say that word, and his response flooded her with hope.

But now. . .her husband was a shell of his former self. No longer handsome with an air of power, but rather sickly and withdrawn.

"Have you taken your medication?" She asked him.

He mumbled an answer, before leaning up. His dark eyes were almost black. "I'm not a baby. . .Honey."

She frowned, "I never said you were. Obviously they're not helping, are they? Shall I call Doctor Courrine again?"

Belsarion's head shot up. He reeled, clutching his throbbing skull. "There's no need. I'm sure it'll pass. . ." But as he said it, he felt a wave of sickness come on. He didn't have time to hold back. Vomit shot from his mouth, splattering as it hit the desk.

"Oh. . .Lex," Honey pulled her husband up from his slumped position, rubbing his back, "I wish I knew how to make you feel better."

The truth was that Honey was scared. Lex Belsarion was everything to her. They never had children. His political career was too demanding, and the spotlight would have been unfair. They had each other. But day by day, it was as if Lex was slipping through her fingers and she couldn't stop it. She could only watch as fragments of her husband fell away.

She leaned him back in his chair, "I wish you'd just rest."

"I can't. . .I have to make the speech for later."

Downstairs, the camera crew was setting up their equipment. In a matter of an hour, a live feed would be broadcast around Panem to the expecting citizens of the districts. Belsarion would have to tell them that he was taking kids - not innocent, but kids all the same - and pitting them in an arena against their will. And not even now. Not for a few months. A deep, seedy part of him hoped that many would hide or escape the oncoming capture.

A knock at the door pulled his focus. Behind Honey, a man walked in: his violet hair was gelled up, a neat matching beard on his face. He held an air of confidence and grace as he kissed Honey on the cheek.

"Lex!" He opened his arms up, a dramatic show, "You're not looking as hot as you use to. . .the new look doesn't wear you well."

Belsarion chuckled breathlessly, "It's nice to see you again, Arase."

Arase Perrault was a man of the media. Every citizen in Panem knew him by his trademark use of violet in everything he wore, but more so for his latest, hard-hitting piece of journalism on District Thirteen's entire annihilation - from their treachery to their demise.

"Can I get you a drink, Arase?" Honey offered with a soft smile.

"No, thank you! We're on the clock!" He clapped his hands, turning to Belsarion, "I need to get you looking less like a corpse and more like a man who has an entire country under his thumb!"

* * *

 **Note:** Submissions are _still_ open. The form and any information can be found on my profile. Please do not hesitate to message me if you have any queries. It is open submissions - and when the deadline closes, I will draw my final decisions.

* * *

I want to expand on the origin story a lot more, putting the pieces into place. The final two prologues should hopefully help you catch up with this "verse" and the major changes I'm going to be installing.

I hope you are enjoying so far and, as always, please review _:)_


	3. Grief

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Thank you to everyone who has submitted so far! I've updated my profile with more necessary info when it comes to submitting, mainly what I do/do not need more of.

* * *

 _ **Call To Arms.**_

 _ **Chapter Three: Grief.**_

* * *

 _ **Prologue, Part Three.**_

* * *

"I can't believe it... after everything that has happened."

Fennix stared at the screen in disbelief. When it was time for the broadcast, he had retreated into his personal office, away from his family. He had told them vehemently that he disagreed with the decision - that he was overruled by everyone else.

His eldest son, Arden, had followed him, worried about his ailing Father's health. "Dad... you need to let it go."

On the screen - only moments after Belsarion had announced the decision to take all teenage rebels into custody - violence had broke out across the districts. Arase Perrault was announcing their barbaric onslaught on the Peacekeepers with a look of fear in his eyes. Casualties were beginning to build once more. The toll was beginning to match that of the war.

"Why?" Arden mumbled.

"I don't know," Fennix sighed, muting the screen, "Lisanna came up with the idea from nowhere. And now... it's happening. Children, Arden. _Children_. Just like the ones in the school and hospital, in the homes in the districts. Too many have died," Fennix clenched his fists, fury pumping through his veins.

"Dad..." Arden poured a glass of water from the beaker, "You need to let it go... it's not right, but you can't fight it. It'll kill you."

"I can't," Fennix refused, "I can't just let them _murder_ children to prove a point! The districts have suffered enough already, the Capitol has suffered enough already! Why prolong the agony?"

It was a senseless fight. The Capitol would get their bloodshed. They would get to watch children hack into each other - a life for a life, to them - and then what? The districts would plan again and again, stubborn and determined to fight the iron fist that so often pounded them into the ground. A constant cycle of death and violence in the guise of freedom and vengeance.

Fennix couldn't peel his eyes away. The camera skimmed over the body of an older man, lying in a pool of blood. Some feet away, the whites of a Peacekeeper uniform was stained red in stark contrast.

"Stop it," Arden switched the screen off. "Stop doing this! You're beating yourself up over something that was out of your control!"

"I could have stopped it!"

"You can't!" Arden grabbed his Dad by the shoulders, shaking the elderly man in his seat, "You're going to kill yourself worrying about something that you have no control over! They did it, not you! It's not for your conscience to stress about!"

Fennix wrenched Arden's hands from his shoulders, shoving his son away, " _You_ don't get to tell me what I should be feeling!" He stood up on unstable legs. Suddenly, he noticed the throbbing in his skull. His heart was no longer heavy, but hammering against his chest, desperate to break free.

"Dad?" Arden stepped forward, noticing his Dad swaying back and forth on his heels.

Fennix clutched his heart. Pain surged through his chest, creeping up his back and taking hold of his throat. His words stolen from him, Fennix could only gasp as he fell to his knees.

"Mom! Charice! Get some help! F-Find his medication!"

Through Fennix's blurred vision, he could make out the two figures now approaching, wailing and screaming at an unearthly pitch. But everything was becoming distorted. The world was burning at the seams. He mumbled something - he could only hope that his mouth hadn't fully betrayed him - before a warm embrace ended the pain.

* * *

News of Counsellor Fennix's untimely death circled Panem the very next day.

It was plastered over every channel. Arase Perrault dedicated an entire hour on his show to an autobiographical memorial. _The Life and Times of Fennix Bane_. He had invited Fennix's family to give an interview which they respectfully declined. He asked the country to cease their fighting in order to mourn a great man.

"This is bad," Lisanna mumbled, sitting in the comfort of her lounge, "This is _really_ bad. Oran, I need a stiff drink. Make it a triple." Her servant - as obedient as ever - disappeared in the kitchen. When he returned with the glass full of whiskey, Lisanna smiled, "You know me well."

"Years of helping you has done that, my lady."

She downed the drink in one fell swoop, smacking her lips after.

"Should I call someone?" Oran offered. "Your children? I'm sure they're confused about it all..."

In the back of her mind, she wanted to talk to Ares. Fennix's death was sad - well, not _really_ \- but the old man was the only one to be against the idea of the inventive execution. All that could go wrong would be that it slipped out...

" _An emergency broadcast has been issued_."

"No," Lisanna whispered in horror as the channel shifted, revealing Arase Perrault. "No, no no..."

" _In the late hours of last night, Counsellor Fennix Bane was pronounced dead at the scene. Whilst sad, the circumstances were more than suspicious. With some digging, we have uncovered that the late Counsellor was the only member of President Belsarion's inner circle to reject the idea of the gladiatorial event. Is that purely convenient? Or is there more to the story? Tune in tonight to find out more!_ "

"No, no, no..." Lisanna still mumbled. Her head spun with ideas.

Oran stepped in view, "Should I call him now?"

She didn't dare ask how Oran knew - she nodded, and the young man vanished once more to contact Ares.

She couldn't stop her mind from jumping to conclusions though.

Fennix was dead. He was old - failing health, sure - but it was so sudden. And his heart medication should have kept him in check at least. But worse... how had Arase Perrault found out that Fennix was the only one to reject the idea? Nobody outside of the circle knew who voted for and against the idea. It was between them, and them alone.

 _No, surely not..._ But it seemed to be true.

Somebody out there was playing an even bigger game than Lisanna was.

* * *

Commander Ares had got the call at the wrong time.

"I'll call her back."

"But, Sir-"

"I'm busy!"

The messenger scurried away, tail between his legs. Ares grinned maliciously. Underlings needed to be put in their place, reminded of how low they truly were. Candidates were the worst. So needy, so obnoxious, so readily willing to appease anyone around them. Ares shook his head, turning to his men in front of him.

"Where was I? Oh, yes. You guys!" He opened his arms wide, addressing his army of forty-something in the cold, metallic hanger that held the entire Capitol fleet, "You are the lucky ones. Cream of the crop! You've each been assigned a leader, hmm?"

In front of the troops, twelve leaders stood proudly. Rifles were slung over their shoulders. Uniform pressed and readied. With a clap of Ares' large hands, the troops rallied behind their leaders, forming perfect lines.

"You will head into the districts! You will apprehend the targets by _any means necessary_! You will _not_ kill them on sight! Do I make myself clear?" Ares shouted.

A chorus of people cheered, "Yes, Sir!"

"Every suspect is to come back alive and well! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"You do, however, have my permission to be as rough as necessary! If they are resisting arrest, you sedate them! Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Sir!"

"Move out!"

Like an organised army of ants, the troops marched towards their designated ships. The leaders, however, stayed behind for their own personal briefing. Ares unfolded the package, passing each of them one of the twelve files, containing the names and last locations of each teenage rebel in the vicinity of each district.

He smiled, edging closer. "These, my good men, are your targets."

One of the leaders' eyes opened wide, "Children, Sir?"

"Yes, children. Is that a problem, soldier? Did you not watch Belsarion's announcement?"

"N-No, Sir... I was simply making sure I understood..."

"Don't be retarded," Ares responded gruffly, "These are no children. These are the very people who murdered your own. Calculating, self-entitled, vicious little brats who are not to be taken lightly. They are not to come back harmed... but I expect _every_ single name to be captured. Any rebels that you find that are not on the list or do not match the photo are to be executed on sight."

Nobody questioned him. With a satisfied smirk, he dismissed the soldiers. They scurried to the hovercrafts, boarding them. Not a minute later, the ships departed the hanger, flying off into the cloudless skies above Panem.

 _The districts won't know what will hit them_.

Ares spun around, "Worm! Get my sweetheart back on the phone!"

* * *

 **Note:** Submissions are _still_ open. The form and any information can be found on my profile. Please do not hesitate to message me if you have any queries. It is open submissions - and when the deadline closes, I will draw my final decisions.

* * *

We're drawing closer to the start of the story! I hope everyone is enjoying it and, as always, please review _:)_


	4. Stress

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the Hunger Games.

 **Note:** Our final prologue! Mainly filler, but a little juicy detail for the Capitol story line that I'll be developing alongside the Games. The blog and tribute list are at the bottom of the chapter! (Please be mindful of other submitters - everyone can have an opinion, but criticism and trashing are two very different things)

* * *

 _ **Call To Arms.**_

 _ **Chapter Four:**_ _ **Stress.**_

* * *

 _ **Prologue, Part Four.**_

* * *

In the muted light of the prison, seventy-four cells contained a criminal.

They came from the districts. Girls and boys. Angry, sad, scared and amused. Some of them wailed into the night. Some laughed and cursed at the guards that kept them in check. A few were unhinged, rocking back and forth and muttering into the concrete at their feet. The odd one or two was eerily silent to their ordeal.

The door opened. Some looked up. Others cowered.

"Well, well, well..." A guard strolled in. His beady eyes scanned the dark room. "It looks like the time has come, little ones!"

Behind him, another guard - fat and stodgy, jiggling as he walked - jeered, wrenching a baton from his belt. He slammed it into the bars of a nearby cell. He laughed, eyes alight with darkened curiosity, as he dragged the weapon across it.

"What do you think will happen to them?"

"I don't know, Dax," The first guard responded, "But I do know that it'll be fun to watch them squirm!"

"Look at this one, Cas."

The first guard - Cas, with the beady eyes - stood alongside Dax. They stared hungrily into the cell. "This one looks like it ain't been fed for days!" Cas remarked.

"That's cause I might've forgotten to feed 'em once or twice," Dax laughed, "Always forgetting that we have company... tend to eat the best for myself!"

"Maybe we should play a game with 'em? Feed them if they get it right!"

Dax leaned forward, nose pressed against a cold bar. He stared at the dishevelled mess of a child, huddled in the corner, "Would you like that, piggy? Play a game for your hunger?"

"A hunger game!"

They laughed at their joke, sparking a few sharp wails from the further end of the cells. They enjoyed the torment. Watching the little terrorists squirm, begging for food or a quick end. Many of them knew what was going down. The broadcast was one thing - but then the dispatched soldiers, rounding them up, confirmed the conspiracies.

"D'you know which ones were picked?" Dax asked Cas as they routinely checked to make sure none of the prisoners had escaped, or worse... tried to end it all.

"No idea," Cas shrugged, "Not that it matters. None of 'em are ever gonna live. Whichever ones aren't shipped away to that fancy arena they've been building are gonna rot away in these here cells."

Dax smirked. "Serves 'em right for thinking they could destroy the Capitol."

Just then, the door swung open. A female guard entered, a note in her hand. Silently, she passed it to Cas, sparing a pitiful glance at some of the rotten cells.

"What is it?"

"How am I suppose to know?" Cas opened it up, narrowing his eyes as he read in the dim light. "Oh... I see. I think we have our prisoner list all picked out!"

* * *

"It's all going wrong."

Lisanna paced back and forth in the small, confined space of her home office. Her plan was falling apart. The kids had been collected and detained. That was a start. She had chosen her list - twenty-four teenagers, the collective worse - and passed it on to the prison guards. More progress. But then, a bump in the road.

She spun around, arms open wide. "Why are you telling me this _now_?"

Oran stood his ground. "It's my job."

"It is _not_ ," Lisanna protested, "Your job is to get me my alcohol and clean up after my children! What made you think it was a good idea to tell Valor about my call with Ares?"

"He asked," Oran shrugged nonchalantly, "You told me that I'm to answer any questions set by the people above you. Valor is above you... I didn't see the issue."

"Valor is the enemy," Lisanna sighed, "I thought you was more competent than this, Oran. Why would you tell him? Why? What possessed you to do more than clean for me?"

In the span of a month, everything had crashed and burned around her. Fennix was dead. Ares was getting too close for comfort, demanding more attention. Valor was a mystery. Belsarion was pretty much dying.

She no longer held all of the cards.

And now, Oran - the man whom she trusted not to spike her drink at any given chance - had betrayed her by using her own rules against her. Had it come to a point where the staff were even one step ahead?

Lisanna fell down into her chair. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "How much does he know?"

"Everything."

"Imbecile..." Lisanna murmured, "... and how long before he acts upon his knowledge?"

"About five minutes."

"What?"

On cue, a sharp knock on the door made Lisanna's heart still. Oran silently left the room to welcome their visitor. Lisanna held her breath as Oran returned, Valor at his heel. The Vice President smiled kindly at Oran, dismissing him.

"Valor... I can explain."

Valor raised a hand. Not a trace of emotion crossed his face. Cold, steely eyes burned a hole in Lisanna's confidence. "Save it. I'm not here to quarrel."

"Okay... can I get you a drink?"

Valor stepped forward, taking a seat opposite the Counsellor. He drummed his fingers on the desk, letting Lisanna soak in her stress. After a moment, he simply smiled, cocking his head to the side like a curious animal.

"We have much to discuss before the big ceremony."

* * *

 _ **Tribute List**_

* * *

 **District One: Luxury**

Male: Sade Seville, 18

Female: Vinka Lozano, 16

 **District Two: Masonry**

Male: Cassius Oteri, 18

Female: Larissa Isola, 18

 **District Three: Technology**

Male: Evo Arrite, 15

Female: Melinoe Redman, 16

 **District Four: Fishing**

Male: Marius Lillard, 18

Female: Dinara Viselli, 18

 **District Five: Power**

Male: Lewis Scott, 12

Female: Fallyn Lenair, 17

 **District Six: Transportation**

Male: Luther Perrimon, 16

Female: Lourdes Everett, 17

 **District Seven: Lumber**

Male: Liam Rosales, 16

Female: Siena Lefebure, 16

 **District Eight: Textiles**

Male: Avant Serillo, 16

Female: Moiree Gingham, 16

 **District Nine: Grain**

Male: Austin Sevigny, 17

Female: Veda Tachni, 17

 **District Ten: Livestock**

Male: Hawke Rabanus, 18

Female: Rhea Magri, 18

 **District Eleven: Agriculture**

Male: Rodelian Hemcorr, 17

Female: Henrietta Ross, 17

 **District Twelve: Coal**

Male: Coen Saxon, 15

Female: Cadence Malori, 17

* * *

 **The blog for this story is located here: _calltoarmshg_** _ **at blogspot**_

 **The deaths in this story will be based entirely on the benefit of the story. I will sometimes stick to realism, sometimes ignore it. Whichever makes for a better story is the better option.**

* * *

 ** _Which tributes are you most interested in from their vague blog posts?_**

* * *

 **Note:** With that being said, I hope to update once a week/ten days. It all depends on work and my schedule. The main focus is to get a few chapters ahead, so nobody can influence me and my choices.

I've messaged every submitter whose tribute got into the story. I surprisingly received a fair amount of submissions (95% were female) so the slow crawl was genderbending some ladies.

Enjoy the blog! See you in a few days with the first of our "Reapings"!


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